What They See
by Lady Mear
Summary: The Hero of Elysium and The Archangel of Omega. Both are legends, both are lies.  Both have black stains on their souls. In a war against insurmountable odds, the lies may be their only chance. Moments in the lives of Shepard and Vakarian. femshep/garrus
1. Genesis 1 of 2

BIOWARE OWNS EVERYTHING

SPOILERS - NONE

The Authors Note – Yet another story about the Shepard an author played the game with. '_Are you Mine?' _ fits in this 'verse. The stories won't be in chronological order and will rarely (if ever) contain the actual gameplay. Everyone reading this has played the game. You know who says what. I am not going to type it out. This is meant to be the moments in between.

Name: Aoifa Shepard

Class: Soldier

Background: Earthborn/War Hero

Psychological profile: renegade with a soft spot.

Genesis 1.1

Shepard hit the metal decking of the prison transport ship hard enough to bust her lip. She pushed up onto her knees and wiped the cut with a manacled hand before climbing awkwardly to her feet. She flashed a glare at the guard responsible for her fall, got a grin back, and fell into place in the ragged line of prisoners exiting the ship to start a new life on the brand new, bright and shiny Alliance Prison Ship, Alcatraz. Ten years, ten years for killing a druggie targeting _children_. The Reds didn't even run drugs, but somehow the prosecutor had spun the kill into a drug war, not someone selling bad coke to one of _her_ gang's rats.

She glanced around as she stepped off of the gangway and onto the ship. There were a lot of soldiers – a _lot_ of soldiers. She'd never seen this many in one place before, not outside of the Paddy's Day Parade. One of them stood a little ahead of the others. Unlike them, he was wearing a uniform instead of armour and had some stars in his collar. To either side of him stood a helmeted guard wearing the N7 logo on their chest plates. Her eyes lingered. She had wanted that. She'd been contemplating signing up on her eighteenth birthday; it was a way off the streets and N7 were the best. When the bust happened, she's been six months too young, old enough to be tried as an adult, young enough that the only way out hadn't been an option yet, not when they did bone marrow tests before they put the weaves in. The recruiter had told her it was plus or minus two months, and if she tried again in four, she might get through. But then Kipper had come in with the bag and the three little ones had left and when she finally went looking for them... She forced her mind to the present and wondered why the soldiers were there.

The man she was sure was an officer, and a high ranking one, handing a datapad to 'Guard Captain Henry, Sir!' He glanced over it and said something to a couple of others behind him. He handed the datapad over and the two men started down the ragged line of manacled men and women, every now and then stopping to pull someone out, unclip them from the chain, and shove them at the waiting soldiers.

They reached her, and she felt a hand grasp her shoulder as Matthews hissed, "Looks like we won't have the _pleasure_ of your company, Shepard-Girl" It was a small victory to realise the sadist still couldn't pronounce her first name and then she was falling again, only to be caught by the metal links holding her to the other cons. Matthews waiting until her unbalanced weight pulled against it before pressing the controller and she toppled forward… only to be caught. She looked up and found herself staring straight into an N7 logo as the marine put her back onto her feet. "Thanks…" she said, meeting his eyes.

"That way", he nodded to the door behind them. As she shuffled away, she realised something had happened to her future. She straightened her spine and increased her gait until she was walking as well as the chains allowed. Apparently she had another option then Alcatraz.

*N7*

Brigadier General Richard L Hackett looked over the ragged line of convicts standing in front of him and wondered again whether all sense had left the Alliance brass. Of course, technically _he_ was brass these days, but still… if they got even one of these… these rejects out the other end of basic, it would be a miracle. A young woman near the end of the line caught his eye. He followed her hungry gaze to the marine standing not far from her and sighed. Just what he needed, a con more interested in screwing then her second chance.

"She'll make it."

Hackett turned to look at Captain Kline and the N7 nodded to the girl.

"Really?" he said sceptically.

"She wants the N7, Brig. Look at her."

He looked back at her, pale skin, hair dyed black and red and half grown to her shoulders and the look of desperation every street rat had until they were long out and her piercing eyes staring straight at the N7 logo.

He smiled and nodded, "You might be right."

"I am right. You've been in the ivory tower too long, Ricky if you can't see it in her. She'll go far."

Hackett looked at the datapad for a moment, ignoring the informal tone his former team mate used, "Gang affiliation, the Tenth Street Reds, one of their enforcers. Likes sneaking up on targets and shooting them."

"Quiet like? She might make a good infiltrator. N7 is always looking for them."

"With a _shotgun. _The note on the file says she was brought in with a Reaper 1 on her."

"We might have to wean her off them." Kline laughed.

Something else caught Hackett's attention further down the bio, an irritated comment from an over worked ballistics specialist, "You remember a couple years back? There was a spate of killings? Turned out to be a slaver gang who got their stock from the street?"

"The one where they figured it was a couple of enforcers from the street gangs who took them down?" At Hackett's nod, he continued, "There were four weren't there? Three there caught and the forth was never identified."

"Hero. The street kids called the one who got away 'Hero'."

"So?"

"Shotgun blast to the chest, in a top floor apartment. No one saw the killer enter or leave."

Kline followed Hackett's gaze to the girl, "Hero used a Reaper 1."

"That's… slim." He held out his hand for the datapad and glanced over the information. "Ah…Oh…E…fah? At least her surname is pronounceable. She turned eighteen two weeks ago."

He flipped back a screen and began scanning through the information on the other 'recruits'. Shepard would pass muster and he's see whatever strings needed pulling pulled to get her onto the N7 course afterwards. Anyone who looked at the logo like that _deserved_ a shot at getting in.

"ATTENTION!"

The prisoners jumped, and looked around mostly alert, but it wasn't parade ground rest and it definitely wasn't standing to attention. Hackett looked over the line, "The Alliance needs men, and women. Despite your past actions and your current circumstance, you fit the requirements."

There was some shuffling.

"This is a second chance. A chance at a new life, one with meaning. A chance to be something more than a caught criminal. You have the option here and now of joining Humanities military machine. You will, in essence, serve you sentence in our armed forced, after which you can leave or stay. You will have the same options as all other recruits."

The general kept talking, but Shepard had stopped listening after the third sentence as reality sank in. Oh there would be a catch somewhere. There had to be, but it was a chance. A chance she desperately wanted. She flicked her gaze to the N7 marines again. No way was she screwing this up.


	2. Genesis 2 of 2

BIOWARE OWNS EVERYTHING

SPOILERS – MASS EFFECT 2

Genesis 1.2

"I would have made a damn good spectre." Garrus Vakarian walked over to the window after making the comment and looked out over the Citadel Presidium, momentarily ignoring the man he had just spoken to. He didn't miss Velarn's relief at the gesture. He had probably expected him to explode, but the truth was, he had been expecting this from the moment the council had started attaching words like 'over-worked' to Shepard. The last thing they would want was her crew in positions to continue her work. After a few moments, the Turian Councillor joined him.

It didn't take long for the 'official' unofficial story to some out. His father... He wasn't even that surprised, all things considered and given the man's response to his acceptance of spectre training. Velarn tried to pretty it up with words like 'duty' and 'responsibility', but it didn't change the facts. Dear Old Dad had called in favours to get him booted, and less than a month after Shepard's death as well. If the accusations the old man had spewed in their last conversation had been true, Garrus should still be in the mourning period! Not that anything had happened between the two of them. Even if he had been interested in humans, something he never had been before, her constant rebuttals of Alenko's advances would have made him leery of approaching her without a sign, which, for the record, she had never given. As fun as their sparing matched had been, they had both unintentionally stayed well clear of the blurry middle ground of Turian foreplay, in his case because he wasn't interested and it hadn't occurred to him when partnering a human and in hers… either because she didn't know or because it never occurred to her either. He'd never even broached the topic. It hadn't mattered.

His mother's illness had given the council the perfect excuse to end his training and send him back to Palavan without disgracing him, which was probably the reason his father had 'stepped in' since the last place he would want his son was at home. Sol had warned him both about his father's attitude and his mother's diagnosis, so he wasn't as surprised as Valern had expected him to be, and despite both rumour and appearance, it had been a long time since he had done anything without thinking the matter through. Given how close to the line he walked, the very fact he had never even received a written warning meant there was even proof if anyone cared to look.

The Presidium spread out before him and his concentrated on it as Velarn droned on about 'good Turians'. Garrus wanted to laugh at someone using the words 'good Turian' for a Spectre candidate, what was that human expression? Oxymoron? That was it, but he held his peace until Valern fell silent. Then he nodded once to the Turian Councillor and left the office.

Out on the broad walkways of the Presidium, Garrus closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, contemplating his future. Whatever his father said, Palavan was a no-go. According to Sol, his father has been acting more and more erratic as his mother's illness worsened and throwing his wayward disappointment of a son into the mix might be more than he could handle. It definitely wouldn't do his mother any good to have them fighting right on front of her. He started walking without a destination, just needing to burn some energy, some frustration out. Maybe, in a while, he'd see if Joke was still frequenting that little bar in Devo Ward or if Wrex had finally left for Tuchanka… in a while, when he had calmed down.

His apartment was silent and still when he finally returned to it, lingering frustrations drowned out by alcohol, company and the knowledge that he wasn't the only one getting shafted by higher-ups who wanted to silence Shepard's ghost. Joker had been unexpectedly gregarious this evening, though he was obviously hiding something – the man's poker face hadn't improved. Wrex had decided to bite the bullet and return to Tuchanka. He had seemed surprised that they weren't even remotely so. Shepard's influence on the big merc was easy to see. Garrus looked down at the datapad in his talons. The battlemaster had asked him to deliver it to a krogan called Patriarch on Omega. He hadn't explained what it was or why it had to be delivered in person, only promising it wouldn't get him killed. It gave him an excuse to go somewhere other than Palavan until he decided what to do. And if he felt the need to get into a few fights and vent some frustration… well who was going to complain? For that matter, who was there to complain to? Omega it was.


End file.
